The Biggest Little Crime In The World

by Brent Kroetch

  Ham smiled, grimly, internally, for he knew with absolute certainty that she spoke the truth. He very likely would have to keep Drew under control, if that even proved possible. A walking weapon in heels, she’d take him down if he failed to reason with her first.

  Drew swept past him, down the few stairs and on to the car that waited. Her own Mercedes ML350 SUV, black, polished and purring. Marta, Drew’s caretaker whenever she left town or worked round the clock, jumped out and greeted Ham with her normal wholehearted joviality. She, one of the few he looked up to, stood all of five foot three, and, Ham guessed, probably pushed two-hundred pounds. She, beautiful, cheerful and bright beyond belief. One of Ham’s favorite people. Ever.

  “How you doing, Marta? You look great as always.”

  “Bah,” she spat, “you lie as always. I’m too fat, my mister tells me. Which is why my mister don’t get any, you hear me?”

  Drew tossed him the keys before pulling her phone from the purse strapped over her shoulder. “You drive,” she instructed. “I’ll call, make sure we know where he is.”

  Before he had the chance to respond, Marta opened the rear door and let out a monster, the one that haunted the worst of his dreams. The one that sprang larger than life, snarling, snapping and lunging for his throat, the crazy shih tzu that Drew had rescued from an earlier crime scene was nearly upon him, with he dissolving into a puddle of fear, before Drew shouted, “Lost! Come to Momma.” The little assassin instantly lost interest in his presumed dinner as he bounded across the tarmac, drooling happiness all over the darkened runway and leapt into her arms.

  “I don’t know why that damn dog thinks me the enemy. Good lord, man, he loves not only everybody else but every living organism in the world.” He threw up his arms in disgust. “Why me?”

  “Because you were the idiot who barged into the crime scene, banged the door and waved your gun in the poor little guy’s face,” Drew reminded him. “Scared him to death and like any cornered animal, he came out fighting. And he still is.”

  “It’s a game to the little ankle biter,” Ham growled. “Fun and grins. Someday, I’ll have the laugh.”

  “Not while I own a gun, you won’t,” Drew responded. Rubbing the dog’s fur, she murmured, “Isn’t that right, Lost? Momma wouldn’t let anything happen to her baby, now would she? Not even for mean Uncle Ham, huh?”

  Uncle Ham? Oh god, oh god, oh god. Please don’t let anybody overhear that. There’ll be nothing else to it, I’ll have to move. Stupid dog.

  Drew buckled up and still cradling Lost, called Kay Morrison, her friend and confidant on the force. Ham had just started the car in motion, not yet sure of the destination but sure it would be downtown, when he heard her offer a greeting.

  She wasted little time with trivialities, got right to the point. “Is he still under surveillance? You know where he is?” She listened a moment, nodded as though on video. “Perfect. You know I’m going to be the one who arrests him, don’t you?” Again she listened, again the nod. “I do not give one fuck in hell. Badge or no, he’s mine. Otherwise I’ll have to kill him.” Sounds emanated from the phone, too low to hear but the meaning became clear when Drew responded, “Do I sound like I’m kidding? Okay then, meet you there in about fifteen minutes.”

  “The Grande,” she informed Ham. “He’s up in security, they’ve got the entrances guarded by unmarkeds, plain clothes cops inside. He’s not going anywhere.”

  “Do you want me to take the car home?” Marta asked.

  “Please,” Drew replied. “Wherever we head after the casino we’ll either flag a cab or catch an official ride.”

  They arrived within the promised fifteen minutes. Ham jumped out, opened the back door for Marta and handed her the keys. “Take the killer dog back home and lock him in a cage. The little prick.”

  “I can’t do that,” she demurred. “Ms. Drew would kill me. Then, I have no doubt, she’d sic the dog on you and let him do his work.”

  “Damn right,” Drew affirmed as she passed over the canine. “Be a good boy,” she instructed the mutt.

  Marta pulled away just before Kay Morrison emerged from the blinding neon lights, her hand extended to Ham and offering a hug for Drew.

  “Are we set?”

  “That we are. Follow me,” Kay told them. “He’s over beyond the cashier cage, in the security offices. There’s no other way in or out. He hasn’t come out, so he’s in, guaranteed.”

  Ham and Drew followed the detective through the bustling activity and mindboggling din of the gambling center, dodging to avoid unseeing guests running for the next seat, for the next million dollar dream. Kay pulled up, turned to them and nodded toward a nondescript door that protected those inside from prying eyes without. As she did, three plainclothes officers signaled her with a small wave and an affirmation.

  “He’s inside, they know we’re here,” Drew surmised.

  “No surprise there. About a billion camera positions are pointed at us and anyway he no doubt expected someone, if not the cops then some of Liam Waterson’s heavies. I don’t know how he thought Waterson’s lieutenants wouldn’t find out. It seems kind of stupid if you ask me.”

  “Which is why he’s here, maybe,” Drew guessed. “Barricaded behind a locked door, surrounded by armed guards, each ready to kill in order to protect him, that’s actually pretty smart.”

  “Has anybody checked the floor plans?” Ham asked. “Are we sure there’s no other exit? These places are famous for escape routes. I find it hard to accept that this one doesn’t own a hidden exit somewhere.”

  “Forget that,” Drew said. “Let’s get his ass if he’s here. And if he’s not then we’ll turn the place upside down.” To Kay, she asked, “When did he get back in town?”

  Kay regarded her, the question foreshadowed in her eyes. “I don’t know. I wasn’t even aware he was out of town until you called. I just poked around a little and found his location. He didn’t seem to be hiding it. But if it’s important, I can have my people check the airlines and the airport security tapes.”

  “It’s damn important,” Ham answered on Drew’s behalf.

  She nodded, called up her station and put out the orders. “It’s done. They’ll call as soon as they find anything.”

  “Okay,” Drew demanded, “let’s do this.” She walked to the unmarked door, peered into the one way glass and pressed the buzzer.

  Almost immediately, a disembodied voice responded. “Can I help you?” Drew nodded at Kay, who held her badge up to the window. “Kay Morrison, Las Vegas Police. Open up.”

  The buzzer sounded, following which the door swung wide and a middle aged man emerged. Ham noted but did not comment on the all but invisible bulge under his coat pocket. Armed and irritated, he guessed.

  “What is it you want?”

  “We want to talk to your boss,” Drew answered.

  “And that would be?”

  “That would be Preston Talbot, asshole. And if you dick me around one more time it’ll be the last thing you do for some several unconscious minutes.”

  The man eyed her up and down, apparently became convinced of her sincerity and ability before he spun on his heel. “Wait here,” he ordered.

  Several minutes passed before an impatient Drew stormed to the door, fist clenched and ready to pound the window into ruinous submission. Before she could do her damage, the door once again opened and out walked the man Ham had seen in the camera feed. Although to his eyes the guy appeared taller and thinner in person than he had on tape, he sported the same graying, full head of hair, cut somewhat on the short side, and with that same bushy matching gray mustache. Now that Ham could see the man face to face, he guessed his age at about sixty years old. And still fit.

  “Do you have a warrant?” Preston politely inquired. With apology in his voice, he added, “If not, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I am quite, quite busy right now. Perhaps if you made an appointment?”

  Drew sighed, pulled her gun and waved
it toward the exit. As she did, Talbot’s associate reached under his coat, confirmation of Ham’s guess. “Pull that thing out and I’ll drop you where you stand,” Drew assured him.

  The ice in her voice convinced Ham of her seriousness. And apparently Talbot, as well. He waved off his subordinate and turned a smiling face to Ham. “Mr. McCalister, how nice to see you. I would like to suggest you train your partner in the proper etiquette of dealing with a witness.”

  Ham’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Do I know you?”

  Preston shook his head, the smile seemingly fixed with cement. “No, most assuredly you do not. But I do know you. And Ms. Thornton, of course. As well as your friend, Kay Morrison.” He held up his hand to forestall comment. “In answer to your obvious question, I make it my business to know the business of this city.” With that same unwavering smile, he added, “Your reputations precede you. Unbuyable, is what I hear. An unusual attribute in your profession.”

  “I’ll take that as the insult it’s meant to be,” an unruffled Ham responded. “Coming from you it’s humorous.”

  “Let’s cuff the son of a bitch and drag his ass to the station,” Drew demanded. “I’d like to have first crack at him. Or maybe last,” she added with a mirthless grin as she swung her weapon toward him.

  “Perhaps you’d like to step into my office,” he offered. “Whatever your problem is, I’m sure we can find an amicable solution.” Without awaiting reply, he spun around and entered through the now wide open door.

  Drew followed close on his heels, Ham behind her, and Kay, after telling her people to wait, last in line.

  The door closed with a soft click and Preston circled around to face them, this time with arms folded across his chest and the smile notably gone. “Alright, out with it. What is this all about? This some kind of shakedown?”

  “This is no shakedown, Mr. Talbot,” Kay responded. “You’re being arrested on two counts of attempted first-degree murder, one count of carrying a weapon in commission of a felony and, oh, hell, we’ll think of a shitload more before the day is through. Now turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

  Instead of obeying her command, his eyes widened with shock. Or maybe amusement, Ham wondered, considering the fact that he suddenly broke into uproarious gales of laughter. When finally able to control himself, he nearly gasped as he shook his head and sputtered, “I see. Let me guess. This is about Liam Waterson, yes?” At Kay’s nod, he nodded in return. “And it’s your claim that I went to Reno, shot him on the street, and then came back here to work his casinos like nothing happened. Am I getting this right?”

  “We’ve got the tape,” Drew replied, anger fueling her words. “Joke all you want, you’re going down.”

  Preston’s sigh revealed more than his words, statements spoken more in pity than in anger. “You know, I’m of a different breed. Many of my compatriots, too many, to my way of thinking, deem our public servants as lower intellects, buffoons, even, incapable of an independent and original thought. I am not of that opinion. I have always had the utmost respect for you and your fellow servants, both for your integrity and for your intelligence. But,” he said as he shook his head with apparent wonder, “I may have to reconsider my position, at least, I am sad to say, as it pertains to present company.”

  Ham had been abused by some of the best but Preston’s cultured voice and placid words placed this present ill-treatment somewhere near or at the top. The man had class, he’d give him that much, if no more. “We’re not interested in your opinion of us, we’re interested in our opinion of you. And we opine you a murderer,” he informed him.

  “Okay,” he sighed, “sit. Make yourselves comfortable, we’ll talk. Can I get you people anything? Coffee? A drink perhaps?” He glanced at his watch. “It is well into cocktail hour.”

  “Thank you, nothing,” Drew snapped. “And I’m not going to tell you again. Turn around, put your hands behind your back.”

  Talbot stared her down before he sighed resignation. “You have no arrest powers, Ms. Thornton. Private detectives rarely do.”

  “That’s where I come in,” Kay reminded him. “I do have arrest powers. Now do as the lady says.”

  He shrugged resignation, did as instructed and warned them, “You are making the biggest mistake of your lives.” To his associate, he added, “Frank, get the mayor on the line. Tell him I’m under arrest and being taken to the station. Tell him I don’t care what else he’s doing, I want him to drop it and meet me there right now.”

  Ham read uncertainty in Kay’s eyes and a deadly certainty in Drew’s. “You do that, Frank,” Ham responded. “Tell him we insist.” He ignored the surprise on Preston’s face, just nodded toward the door. “Get him out of here.”

  Kay clicked on the cuffs and, about to lead Talbot out, found the path blocked by Drew. “You made the mistake of your life,” she mimicked. “I don’t give one crap in hell that you shot your piece of shit crime boss. But I do care that you shot my husband. For that, I’m going to see you die.”

  Preston stared at her, his face a shadow of sorrow. “Lady, I’m sorry about your husband. I do know there was another person shot, and I’ve heard who it was. It was, however, not me that did the shooting. I’ve been here in Vegas and I’ve got all the proof in the world of that. So please accept my condolences regarding your husband, but not my guilt. I wasn’t there.”

  Drew’s cheeks flashed red, a reflection of the wrath in her eyes. “Spare me, Talbot. Save it for court. Tapes don’t lie.”

  Frank reached for the phone, presumably to carry out his boss’ orders. “Hang on a second,” Talbot told him. “If we can agree on that, then perhaps there’s something you’d care to see. Frank, bring up the tapes from this morning from the time of the shooting.” When the scene came up, Talbot nodded to Drew. “Watch this. At the precise time it happened I was right here. I left as soon as I heard about it in order to check on something at our main office. There’ll be tapes of me arriving over there shortly after the shooting.”

  “This is bullshit,” Drew snapped. “We don’t have time for his goddam mind games. I want the mother in a cell, preferably on death row.”

  “Hang on, Drew,” Ham replied. “Let’s at least take a look. Then we can run him in and start the process. But if he’s got something that’s going to screw us, I’d like to know what it is before we can’t undo it.”

  “You’re a smart man, Mr. McCalister, just as rumored.” Nodding to his partner, he instructed, “Run it, Frank.”

  The feed unreeled before them, at real time, with date and time stamp prominently displayed. Sure enough, there, at precisely the time of the crime, stood Preston Talbot, mingling on the gaming floor and surrounded by at least ten of his associates. Probably more, but Ham couldn’t count fast enough to make up for his disgust.

  “What the hell kind of crap is this?” he demanded. “Did you screw with the tapes? Take an old feed and superimpose time and date?”

  A small smile danced upon his lips as he replied, “Am I mistaken? Didn’t your partner state that tapes don’t lie?”

  “Wipe that smile off your face before I beat it off you,” Drew snarled.

  “Easy, Drew. Let me handle this,” Kay offered. “Mr. Talbot, I want all your tapes, from today and yesterday, at this and all casinos in which you have interest.”

  He shook his head, emphatic in denial. “I’m sorry, but that I cannot do. Not without a warrant.” As she began a retort, he stopped her short. “I am in need of these tapes at the moment. As I am sure you will not be surprised to find out, we are conducting our own investigation. Mr. Waterson’s attacker is going to have to answer for his crime.”

  “The Reno police are quite anxious that he do so,” Ham assured him. “Which is why you need to turn this over to us and let us run with it.”

  Preston offered a small chuckle, a reaction to a cute but uncomprehending child. “Mr. McCalister, I said nothing about the state conducting retribution on our behalf.
We are quite capable of handling that task ourselves. And we shall.”

  Ham regarded him with interest, this man who appeared so calm in the face of the madness around him, this man who just announced, without any obfuscation whatever, that he intended to be the method of fatality for the culprit, without regard to legal niceties, and what the hell did Ham intend to do about it?

  Ham grinned back his intent to do precisely nothing about it. Unless he got to the perp first. Then all bets were off.

  “Looks like he’s got us,” Drew admitted. “Take the cuffs off him. Let’s see if we can’t maybe agree to share our talents and his intel.”

  Preston accepted his victory with grace. He merely nodded acquiescence and again offered his services as host. “What do you propose?”

  Before she offered an answer, Kay’s cell demanded attention. She noted the caller ID, mumbled the need to take it. She listened intently for a short time, thanked whoever had been on the other end of the line and ended the call. “Well,” she announced to the room, “there’s no record of Mr. Talbot going through the airport, nor is he listed on any passenger manifests.” She glared at Drew, an obvious slap of irritation. “So much for your theory.”

  Drew bothered not to feign embarrassment. “You might have jumped as far and fast as me if you had been there. And if it had been your very new husband,” she added.

  Kay nodded, an indication of chagrinned acceptance. “What’s done, etcetera, etcetera. What’s on your mind regarding cooperation with Mr. Talbot, here?” After a pause of a second or two, she amended, “In such a way as to keep LVPD out of it.” Though the accusation of being dragged into the mud remained unspoken, it wafted clearly through the room nonetheless. Drew owed major restitution, Ham guessed. Probably a few dinners or more at Gordon Ramsey Steak, or Tom Colicchio’s Heritage Steak, maybe even Wolfgang Puck’s Cucina. Whichever, all would be well above Kay’s usual paygrade.